


the one where junhong blames his mild concussion

by andnowforyaya



Series: yaya's winter writing blast 2015 [15]
Category: B.A.P
Genre: Bad Flirting, Car Accidents, Gen, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-18 23:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5948008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nurse who comes in to take care of Junhong is very, very attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one where junhong blames his mild concussion

**Author's Note:**

> for changmaximum @ twitter, who wanted banglo and possible some hurt/comfort

The side of his face is sticky and hot, and Junhong goes to touch it, to investigate, only his arm is pinned to his side, and he can’t move his other arm entirely; it’s numb all the way from his shoulder down to his fingers. Numb and cold even though his entire right side is burning, on fire. The world buzzes around his ears and comes in and out of focus, like he’s blinking with his whole existence. Suddenly, everything hurts. There is pain and panic in his mouth, because he remembers.

The crash.

The car skidding out of control and the oncoming headlights. How everything slowed down and sped up again, right before impact.

He tries turning his head but can only manage a tiny twist, his neck stiff, his seat belt cutting into his ribs. “Hyung,” he manages to croak out between his lips, but his hyung is draped over the steering wheel and there is blood and shattered glass everywhere, and he is very, very still.

.

He wakes up in a strange, white room. The curtains over the window opposite his bed are pale and don’t do a good job of blocking out light, so the room is illuminated a steely grey. He blinks, turns his head to the side. He can turn his neck all the way now. There is a bed next to his, maybe five paces away, but it is empty. He turns his head back the other way, relishing the feeling, and see the door.

It is slightly ajar, and sounds come in from the hallway, and there’s a little window in the door and through it he can see men and women with masks on their faces and white coats bustling back and forth. Some of them carry charts. He turns his head so he can stare at the ceiling, and it’s boring in its whiteness. His body is numb, but not the kind of numb he had felt before, which is probably good. This time, he is floating, and his thoughts feel disconnected like they are drifting dust motes in the air and he’s struggling to catch them in his hands.

It takes him a long time to realize that he is in the hospital.

The door opens, and Junhong turns his head slowly to look at who is entering, who is shutting the door and sealing away all those noises from the hall. A young man in light pink scrubs approaches his bed, a gentle smile on his face. He’s tall and thin, but probably not taller than Junhong.

He’s also very, very attractive.

“You’re awake,” the man says, and this makes him smile more. “Awake and lucid this time, maybe?” He inclines his head, and Junhong realizes he’s waiting for an answer as the fogginess of his thoughts begins to leave him. The man is carrying a chart. He starts to check the machines that are around Junhong’s bed that the injured man hadn’t noticed before, scribbling things onto the chart as he does so while pressing a button that adjusts the bed so that Junhong is sitting up at a comfortable angle.

“Who…?” Junhong begins to ask, but his throat is too dry to continue speaking. He coughs lightly, and even that tiny movement jars his spine.

“I’ll get you some water,” the nurse says. “Take it easy. You have a couple broken ribs. Your right arm is broken and in a cast. You had a little bit of a concussion. But you’re healing well.”

His voice is so low it resonates in Junhong’s chest and makes his stomach flip-flop pleasantly. Junhong groans because he can’t speak. He closes his eyes and hears the door open and shut twice before opening them again, and the nurse is back with a paper cup that has a little straw sticking out of the top.

“Here,” the nurse says, holding the straw and cup to his lips. Junhong sips, staring at the nurse’s slim fingers. The water coats the inside of mouth and sluices down his throat and esophagus, and it feels like heaven. When the cup is empty, he lays back against the pillows and sighs. His nurse asks, “Better?”

Junhong nods. His nurse is clean-shaven, his black hair cropped close to the sides of his head, and the smile he wears is of the benevolent. But Junhong sees little hints of the person under the scrubs, perhaps the person outside of the walls of the hospital. In his nurse’s earlobes are two little silver studs, and his left eyebrow has two tiny stripes shaved into the edge. The black ink of a tattoo peeks out from under the short cuff of his right sleeve. He wonders what else he’d find under that pink cloth.

“Thank you,” Junhong says, testing out his voice after the water. It feels raw and thin, but it’s there. “Which hospital is this?”

“Asan Medical,” the other man says. “I’m Bang Yongguk, your nurse. I’ve also been assigned to your brother down the hall. He’s okay, too.”

Junhong breathes out a sigh of relief so large he feels his chest concave. Yongguk takes the water away and throws the cup into the little trash bin by the door, smiling again. He seems to smile a lot, though there is a distinct, private feeling to his smiles, like they are just for Junhong. He lays a hand on Junhong’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You’ll be all healed up in no time,” Yongguk promises.

“With you taking care of me, I’m sure I will be,” Junhong says, cursing inwardly at himself immediately after. He wills his cheeks not to burn bright red. Why the hell had he said that? Must be a combination of the lingering effects of his concussion and too much time spent in the vicinity of Daehyun-hyung trying to court Youngjae-hyung.

Yongguk’s hand is heavy on his shoulder as he stares, his mouth open in a small circle. God, even his dumbstruck look is attractive. “What...did you say?”

“Nothing,” Junhong hastily mumbles, averting his gaze. “Nothing -- just saying nonsense.”

For a long moment, the quiet buzzes in Junhong’s ears. He swears Yongguk can hear his heart beating.

“My job is to help you get better, Junhong-sshi,” Yongguk says seriously, stepping back and picking up his chart again, and Junhong wishes he could crawl under the covers and hide as the embarrassment doubles. “If you want to flirt, it will have to wait until your release.”

His heart slams around inside of him as he looks up again slowly, only to meet Yongguk’s sly little grin, that satisfied curl in the corner of his lips. “Are you for real?” Junhong asks, a little breathless. He’d never thought a stupid pick-up line reminiscent of Daehyun-hyung’s cheesy one-liners could actually _work_.

Yongguk shrugs but his expression remains the same, just on the border between business and play. “We’ll be getting to know each other a little bit over the next couple of days. After that, maybe we can revisit this conversation.”

The way he says it -- it sounds more like a promise than anything else.

.

 

**Author's Note:**

> orz i'm so sorry i really struggled with this one. thank you for reading.


End file.
